


Bleib stark: Stay Strong

by stardustandreams



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin is a poor little baby and he didn't deserve what Isayama did to him, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Strength, isayama you asshole, none of them did, or turtles, why titans when you could have had ponies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandreams/pseuds/stardustandreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d sobbed then, heavy shaky tears that wracked his entire body. The onlookers that stood nearby had to look away. Here was a child whose soul was grieving injustice, who really, truly understood loss. Such was the world they lived in- cruel</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleib stark: Stay Strong

**Author's Note:**

> German I am not, but I have used a couple of words or so (especially since apparently most of the surnames are of German origin) so let me know if anything is grammatically incorrect or anything! (Thank God I decided to question Google translate- I almost got the freaking title wrong- /goodness/)

He’d held his cheek, his thumb gently grazing the soft skin that somehow hadn’t lost it’s baby fat despite the scarcity of food that had become the reason that they were about to be separated.

“You’re too pure for this world,” he’d whispered, wiping away the hot tears that trickled down his grandson’s face. “I love you.  _Bleib stark_ , Armin.”

Stay strong, Armin.

Armin hadn’t felt strong then. He was dying, he was sure of it. He couldn’t breathe, he was choking!  _Opa, help me! There’s something stuck in my throat!_ Armin cried a lot, but he never felt so hopeless, helpless,  _lost_ . He’d swallowed. Once, twice- the lump remained. His lip had quivered.

He couldn’t breathe- breathless, he was breathless. He’d gasped for air, his lungs ached,  _burned_ . Hiccuping, he’d flung his arms around his grandfather’s neck, buried his face into his shirt, breathed in the fading scent of laundry detergent that that brought back memories of lazy Saturday evenings, filled with happiness; before the confusion, before the pain.

He’d sobbed then, heavy shaky tears that wracked his entire body. The onlookers that stood nearby had to look away. Here was a child whose soul was grieving injustice, who really, truly understood loss. Such was the world they lived in-  _cruel_

 

_Don’t leave me._

 

Armin was a boy was blessed with brain, not brawn, and his words had never abandoned him. Even when they failed to serve their purpose against his less intellectual perpetrators, they never escaped him. Speechless was a feeling that was new to him. He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend this goodbye. _I love you, I love you, I love you! Don’t leave me opa. Don’t go._

“I’ll t-think of you every d-day.” He’d whimpered. His grandfather had hugged him back, kissed his head, then slowly pried his arms from him.

“Me too,  _liebling_ .”

 

He’d tucked a lock of blonde hair behind his ear.

Then he’d got up, and walked away.

 

“Bleib stark. _”_  Armin whispered to himself, as the tears poured down his cheeks. _“Bleib stark.”_ His grandfather was still within his reach- two steps, three steps, four, five, six.

Stay strong- his anthem, his mantra, his life force.

“Bleib stark, Armin.” He’d murmured, his voice cracking on the words, as his Opa was loaded onto a cart.  _Cattle_ . The word bounced about his head in harsh angry whisperings- Eren’s indignant cries.  _Cattle_ . His grandfather lifted his hand lightly, waved, and the horses started to trot, the cart that held his sole surviving family member began to pull away.  _Bleib stark, Bleib stark, Bleib stark._ He’d clenched his hands into fists, willed his shaking limbs to stop. He’d put one determined foot before another. He’d sucked in as much air as his little lungs could hold. And then,

“Bleib stark, Opa!” He’d cried.

 

A war cry that pierced the sky, hushed the crowd- silence fell upon the grieving town.

An anguished declaration of justice, the harrowed song of a child’s heart.

 

It was a cry, that would ring for hours in the ears of the men who’d been sent to their deaths.  

 

It was a cry, that his grandfather would never forget, for what little was left of his life. As his grandson became too small to see; as he sat in the cart amidst the quiet shaking- the heavy silence of adults who were all still listening to the slowly-subsiding notes of Armin’s cry for strength.

And he remembered it, as they were sent out the gates, to the outside world, for the first time in his life. To the land of his nightmares, where his son and daughter-in-law lost their lives. As he stared up at the looming giants, knowing that this was it, this was the end.

And before fear could find him, Armin did. His voice was carried with the wind, a cry that resonated within his heart. As he was lifted up, up, too fast, too high. And his legs dangled in the air.

_Bleib stark Opa_ . He found himself facing straight rows of yellowed teeth, the dank stench of saliva and rotting corpses steaming into his face.  _Bleib stark, Bleib stark, stark blei-_

 

 

Armin was very young when his parents set out for the outside world. His memories of sitting on the porch, awaiting their return, outnumbered those of actual interaction. His grandfather, would approach him as dusk fell, with a mug of warm water in one hand, and a book in the other.

“Come inside Armin, it’s getting chilly out here. I’ll read you a book.”

“Okay, Opa.” He’d reply, and he’d shoot one last, wistful glance towards the direction of the gates from which his parents had disappeared. Back into the house they’d go, and he’d crawl up into his grandfather’s lap. They’d settle into the armchair and Armin would take slow sips of his water until his grandfather was satisfied that his grandson was sufficiently hydrated. Then, he’d slowly open the dusty books that had become the only things that got them through the night. Together, they’d visit the lands his parents had set out to explore.

When the Scouting Legion returned with his mother’s corpse, and his father’s badge, Armin hadn’t cried. He’d gripped his grandfather’s hand, and together, they’d whispered.  _Bleib stark_ .

He was young, too young, to comprehend the magnitude of the loss he’d just experienced. But he was intelligent enough to understand that his parents were never coming back.

Which is why this time, he hadn’t bothered to hope and pray for reunion he knew would never come.  _This is a suicide mission!_ He’d heard the chagrined cries of anguished family members, and he’d understood it meant his grandfather stood no chance. He hadn’t waited by the gates. He busied himself with farm work. Eren’s vows for vengeance, and Mikasa’s motherly touch helped him survive the days.

But at night, when the sun set, they huddled together, shivers racking their tiny bodies, and they were frightened. Orphans, alone, helpless. When Eren’s bravado faded into the night, and they stared into the yawning expanse of the starless black sky.

“I miss her,” Eren admitted one night, and he began to cry. He and Mikasa wrapped their arms around his tiny frame, but it wasn’t enough to quiet him down. Their stomachs growled with hunger, their fingers were bruised and calloused, but no physical pain could match the ache of their hearts.  _Bleib stark,_ he remembered then.

Armin got up, wordlessly, and he retrieved a book from the tattered bag that held the remains of his possessions. He cracked it open and squinted to read the ink smudges, illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight.

Mikasa stood, silently, and she retrieved an oil lamp, lit it, and brought it to the book. Eren sniffled, rubbed his eyes, and together they gathered around the book.

Armin started to read aloud, his voice shaky and unsure. But soon, it gained power, volume, confidence. Soon, he gained strength.

And when Eren’s eyes slid shut, and Mikasa blew out the lamp, and the huddled back under the blankets they shared, Armin could hear his grandfather’s voice.

And he knew, that as long as he had words, memories, and books, he had strength.

 

So he would stay strong.


End file.
